Midnight Reflections
by Vhaenya
Summary: Even villains have bad days.


It hurts.

Dabi rolls a cigarette between his fingers and watches the cherry burn against the empty night. He can't quite pinpoint what hurts, he just knows that _everything_ hurts; both physically and mentally.

While his scarred skin holds no more feeling, the staples still tug and bite into the healthy areas of his skin. Leaving him more than uncomfortable on his good days, and on his bad days? Well. Those are the days that he lashes back at the world with gnashing teeth and fire to accompany his harsh words of retaliation.

For the longest time when he was younger, he'd turn towards pain killers just to numb the feeling of being stretched far too thin along the seams. A growing dependency on them forced him to quit after waking up too many times in some unknown hospital in some city where he has no recollection of even visiting. Eventually, one doctor had given him the ultimatum of either life or continuing down his current path and ending up in an unmarked grave at a far too young of an age.

Dabi supposes that no matter what tough psyche he tries to don, in the end- he's still scared of death. After that particular hospital visit, he learned to just deal with the pain. It never does get easier though and there's always that small part of his mind that tells him how easy it would be to get his hands on some pain killers again. It's a struggle some days, but he's able to boast of being six years clean from pills.

He drums his fingers against the railing and lets out a breath that he didn't even know that he was holding.

He can deal with the physical pain, able to drown it out in alcohol and cigarettes. His mental pain though is something that he can't just forget.

No matter how much alcohol he drinks. It always looms behind him like a shadow that he can never get rid of.

It's stupid.

So stupid.

How can he be so weak that he allows the past to affect him so badly? Why is it that how hard he tries to run away, he feels like he's just stuck in place? Why can't he just be happy for once in his life? Has he ever even been happy? How can he even ask to be happy when all he demands of others is misery and tears? Is happiness even meant for him when all that's ever left in his wake is death and destruction?

"Fuck." He whispers, drawing a hand down his face. Dabi pretends to not notice the stinging in his eyes as they start to water, "I never asked for any of this." He flicks the cigarette away and watches as it falls into the darkness.

It's nights like this when the sky is clear of all clouds and he's embraced in the silence of the sleeping city around him that he finds himself thinking back to his childhood. Where his carefully cultivated mask easily slips away and he's forced to face the ugly monster of his past with nothing to shield him from his sorrow and pain.

All Dabi wants to do is to just scream until his vocal cords are nothing but a shredded mess. If he could laugh, he would. Even after all these years, he still finds himself asking what had he done so wrong when he was a child. To his disgust, there's even a tiny part of him that still wants to feel loved and wanted from the family that ostracized him so easily- that, that tiny part of him would rip out his own staples and wash the black dye away if it meant that any of his family would welcome him back with open arms and for once in his life say 'I love you.' That he could just seek the comfort of them. Yet, he can't run to his father nor talk to his mother and his siblings are out of question.

He's alone.

"Goddammit. I just can't win, can I?" Dabi slides down and stretches his long legs out. He knows that there's no hope for him, after all, he's nothing but a villain. A villain that's all shriveled up inside. He's dug his own grave a long time ago, it's time for him to accept that. Dabi glares up at the twinkling stares and curses.

There once was a time where his father and mother would take him out into the country side and show him the endless clusters of constellations that once shone as brightly as his love for his family. Now they're nothing but a mocking reminder of what once could have been.

He just doesn't understand. He had done everything that was ever asked of him and through everything, he was still cast aside.

He was nothing but a mistake, Dabi confirms to himself and lights another cigarette. Staring off into space.

Never good enough.

He was always the black sheep of the family, he had just been deluded by hope and love that only children have the capacity to posses.

No matter how hard he tried, he was always compared back to Shouto. Dabi feels a scowl form and his gaze narrows at the building before him.

How pitiful for the eldest to be constantly beat down whilst the youngest was held on top of a shiny fucking pedestal. Kid could've probably gotten away with murder while at the same time, Dabi would have been crucified for the simplest mistakes. Dabi wonders if he should laugh at the fact that he ended up being the murderer instead.

Anything that he had accomplished as a child, Shouto would come up and surpass him with flying colors. Did his brother ask to be so perfect? No. That didn't stop Dabi from hating him though.

He was jealous.

He was hurt.

He just wanted to be praised for something, _anything_ in his life. In the end, he still only received scorn and cold shoulders.

"You're lucky that you have a fire quirk to stay warm out here." A soft voice simply states from behind him. Dabi gives no answer besides a haphazard shrug. He hears a sigh and a shuffle of fabric as Shigaraki sits down next to him. Dabi pulls in his legs and folds them up against his chest, resting his arms on his knees.

"The great Dabi has nothing to say?" There's sarcasm dripping off from his question and Dabi looks away, not wanting Shigaraki to see his blood shot eyes from crying.

"What do you want, creep?" He meant for it to come out nonchalant but instead, his question sounds forced and broken. Shigaraki stays nothing for a moment, before he hums. Crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his armpits in an attempt to stay warm against the cold spring night.

"Toga said that you were up here. Seemed pretty worried."

"What's that got to do with you?" He hears another sigh and some mumbled words that he can't pick up. Dabi side glances him and spies a few fresh angry scratches against his pale neck. Shigaraki has gotten better about his once constant need to scratch- something must have him pretty stressed.

"Nothing," Shigaraki deadpans, "Last I knew, I could go wherever I wanted to go." Neither of the men move from the other's company. Dabi really doesn't know what to say, he's never seen Shigaraki so willing to sit out in the cold. He knows that as a boss, Shigaraki does care about the rest of his League- but he still finds it odd that Shigaraki is sitting next to him, fighting down a couple of shivers.

Even as they continue to sit in silence, Dabi realizes that he was wrong about something. He's not truly alone.

Dabi buries his face into his arms and allows a small smile, hidden away from Shigaraki's curious gaze. A smile only meant for himself in the reassuring comfort of another person.

* * *

**Author's Note**

This is just a vent fic... it's been a pretty rough week... Working nights can be the worst, when there's nothing to do but ponder the past.

This was just supposed to be Dabi and some internal monologue with himself but as always, Shigaraki somehow weasels his way into my writing.  
One day, I'll write them in character. I've got some WIPs with them in character, it's just been hard to write lately. I was kind of hoping this could bring me out of my writer's block.  
Slightly inspired by Matt Maeson's Grave Digger  
Reviews are always welcome


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